


They give me strength

by LadyCoccinelle



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Visit to a hospital, its bittersweet, prompt found on tumblr, seriously you guys are the worst making me cry like that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 16:30:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5935135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyCoccinelle/pseuds/LadyCoccinelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adrien Agreste reminiscences a visit to a hospital with Ladybug and marvels at the strength of the children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They give me strength

**Author's Note:**

> This idea was too good to pass by. Just the idea makes me want to cry. This fandom is both a blessing and a curse, I swear.
> 
> Original idea from that post: http://ladycoccinelle.tumblr.com/post/138443789197/ladyofacat-ladyofacat-okay-but-wheres-the
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading !

Adrien marched up to his room, closed the door a lot harder than needed, but he didn’t care. He was exhausted and upset. He had been yelled at the whole day: by Nathalie this morning for waking up late, at school for arriving late, in his fencing class, by the photographer of his photoshoot and finally by his father. He had enough and just wanted to be alone. Dragging his feet, he slumped on his bed, cursing his day and busy schedule for the hundredth time that day. 

“Feed me, I’m hungry,” drawled Plagg, poking him on the head. “I need cheese! Cheese to live!”

“Go fetch it yourself then,” Adrien grumbled, his voice muffled by his pillow.

“Someone’s really in a bad mood today.”

“And you’re in a bad mood all year long and also very annoying.”

His Kwami huffed and left him alone to mope. He rolled around, sighing, when he noticed a pile of papers on his desk. Standing up, Adrien slowly took them one by one, his bad mood washed with the flow of memories.

The day before, he had visited a hospital with his Lady, one specialized in children. Getting there had had been a challenge for him, with his super tight schedule, but he made it with a few lies here and there. He regretted nothing. That day playing with children had felt very special. All their babblings, their smiles, their tears or dreams, he drank all of them avidly. He had told them stories, sometimes reacting fighting scenes with Ladybug, talked about what it was to be a hero. It was that day that he fully realized what is was to be one. How the children look up to him, stars in their eyes and awe in their voice, telling him which was the coolest Akumas or favorite fights. It had felt special when they confided to him, spoking about their deepest fears. “I’m afraid to die.” “I’m scared my mommy hate that I’m like this.” “I’m afraid I’ll never be normal.” It was hard to listen, to try to comfort them. The words seemed wrong, fake. But when a tiny smile poke through their tears, he couldn’t help but feel a certain pride swell in him. Those children found hope and strength in their heroes, in them, and their admiration for Ladybug and him fueled him with a desire, a desire to do his best to protect them every day. 

Well now, he would be lying if he didn’t glanced sometimes to see what his Lady was doing. He just felt so giddy watching her laugh and smile, showing off her moves to some squealing girls. 

After a day of running around, playing, pulling and being pulled at (at one point he really wondered if he wouldn’t lose his fake cat ears), piggy back riding, he was dead. He sure thought he was resistant, with his crazy living style, juggling between school work and hero-ing, but taking care of children was worse. Still, there was a gentle warmth in his chest, and he couldn’t help but smile a little dreamily. 

Then a young girl had asked if Ladybug and Chat Noir were married and he just lost it. Sputtering, choking, he saw Ladybug’s face go from white to red to yellow to white again, madly waving her arms around to explain that they were just, yes really, only partners, working together yes that’s all no we don’t kiss. It was so funny to observe (and also a little bit sad to watch her refute it with such energy, but he didn’t lose hope yet).

Just before leaving, after a hug group, heartbreaking farewells and promises to come back, the children had given him his new most important treasure. A huge pile of drawings for him and Ladybug, some only coloring of printed designs, the colors all over the lines, some drawn with markers with the weird blank space between grass and sky. Their skins were white, a weird-looking pink, sometimes a little black. Some even had something written on the paper, with bad calligraphy, grammar errors and the likes. A few were incredibly well-drawn, probably by older children, and one was even drawn digitally. Still, each was equally precious to him, because it was filled with time and dedication, affection and admiration. When he received them with trembling hands, all screaming to give it to them first, to show them details, all smiles and happiness, he felt something well up in him, a warmness fill all of his body. He bit his cheeks, tried to hold back the tears. He thanked them, tried to steady his voice, threw compliments here and there, and left with a smile. It was so hard to leave. He wanted to stay there, with all of them, hear their voices all day long, hug them and reassure them. He missed them more and more as the distance with the hospital grew.

They parted ways with a few words, each in their own world still filled with strong kids with no luck. His Lady’s eyes were wet, he noticed absently, and his were probably too. 

Now in his large, cold room, he felt a warm sip from the papers through his fingers, go up his arms and to his heart. With a smile, he sat, attentively looking over all of them, looking at the names, trying to put a face on it, still hearing their voices in the back of his mind. There were some letters thrown in, too. Scribbly writing telling him to stay strong, beat all the Akumas, – some encouragements to go for it and ask Ladybug out (those had him giggling until he teared up) – their worries and how he helped them get through them each day. One was by a parent, practiced handwriting reminding the duo to take care of themselves and thanking them for saving the Paris. 

He looked at them for hours, and had an idea.

He swiftly got up, took a bunch of them and tape, and started putting them on the walls. Every inch was soon covered with awful drawings with bright colors, over his bed, some even on his climbing wall. Finished, he stepped back to admire his work. His room felt so much more welcoming, filling him up with determination. These children were battling their own battles every day. They were strong, looked up to him. He had to stay strong, to protect them. It was not only his duty, it was his wish.

His room felt alive. It became his secret garden. He was no longer afraid to return, he had a place to call home. Voices that spoke encouragements and comfort.

That night, he discovered a new way to feel stronger, a different type of strength. 

Children strength.

**Author's Note:**

> If you spot a mistake, I hope you'll leave it in the comment so I can correct it quickly, it would be so appreciated ! Thank you for reading !


End file.
